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<title>Longing by Prometheus2048</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28720506">Longing</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prometheus2048/pseuds/Prometheus2048'>Prometheus2048</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Darkness, Depression, F/M, Suicide, Suicide Notes, Unrequited Love</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 11:08:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>601</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28720506</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prometheus2048/pseuds/Prometheus2048</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Unrequited love can turn into something sinister. Something that eats away whatever joy one might feel. Something that can drive people mad.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Longing</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>With every second that I think, every second that I breathe, I can feel how it’s destroying me. Wrecking me apart like I’m nothing but a fragile shell under the pressure of these crippling thoughts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe I really am a shell. A husk of what I could have been. The shadow of what I once was, before I was cast into the limbo of depression caused by these feelings that I could not change no matter how hard I tried. What is this thing that we call love? I certainly know how it feels, but there is nothing beautiful about it. Nothing that is worth sacrificing for, for I have only felt great pain caused by it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I once told myself I could just go on. Forget about her. Yet I still did not lose hope that there might be a spark of love in her that I just have to ignite. How ironical, as I have already lost all hope concerning myself. The hope to live a happy life, even the will to live slowly fades away with every sign that these feelings are not mutual.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With every day I am getting closer to the grave. Driven by this darkness which lies inside of me, consuming every single conscious thought in a void of depression and anxiety. They praise love as this thing that can give you hope and happiness. But from what I have learned I can tell that such things are too good to be true. Instead of giving me a will to live, it took it from me like a malicious eel sucking all the positive thoughts from my veins and replacing them with images of her and how I am doomed to love her forever while being unable to do anything but watch while she rejects me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I have cried countless times before when I first started noticing deep inside that my hopes where in vain. Or at least I think so. Like all the memories of the life I have lived before it's nothing but an echo of the past, overshadowed by what I perceive as my own inner demon slowly trying to kill me. And, to be honest, it seems to be working. I have never felt such a drive to end everything than right now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I now have long stopped crying for there aren’t even tears left to shed. This depression is by far greater than the kind sadness that drives one to crawl under a blanket and sob. No, what I feel cannot be put in words. It cannot be described. It cannot be compared.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not like I don’t have any contact with her. We talk, we write, we meet. Every so often I catch myself feeling happy about the fact that she seems to enjoy talking to me. This euphoria, caused by a deceptive thought, never lasts long. Just a few seconds of what everybody around me seems to feel like. Normal. Happy. Content.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The last remnant of the non-emotional part in me is telling me to end it all. I try to dismiss these ideas, but they always come back stronger, fueled by the worsening condition of my deteriorating mind caused by these ups and downs of hopes and dreams. It wouldn’t be hard to just jump in front of the next train passing by. And with every day it seems to be getting easier. Just the thought of ending my life gives me back more energy and enthusiasm that I could ever dream of right now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not the question of if, but when I will do it.</span>
</p>
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